


(Atypical) Valentine's Day

by tiamatv



Series: Atypical [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (As Ever And Always Switches), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Comeplay, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Castiel/Alpha Dean Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29528013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiamatv/pseuds/tiamatv
Summary: Dean had plans for Valentine's Day, and they didn't include a headache, sore joints, and his aggression running so high that if he saw another alpha he'd probably try and tear their throat out.Goddamn, but he hated being in rut.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Atypical [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169270
Comments: 35
Kudos: 250





	(Atypical) Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amireal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/gifts).



> Look, when my longfic writing partner actually makes a smut _request_ rather than putting her foot down about the amount of smut I throw at things, I know I have to write it.
> 
> Please do not expect a plot. There is no plot. This is just happy established-mates switchy a/b/o porn. It is not betaed, because, well... yes. PWP.
> 
> This is technically a timestamp to [(Atypical) Love Story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668983), but I think it can be read on its own.

Dean really hated going into rut.

Okay, he didn’t know a single damned alpha who _liked_ the fucking homicidal hormones (ha ha, yeah, okay, _not funny_ ) but Dean really, _really_ hated his goddamned rut.

“You,” Cas told him, shoving a hamburger at his face with the rattle of a plate, “are being such a grouch. Please eat.”

“Oh, that’s fuckin’ _hilarious_ , comin’ from you,” Dean growled, still facedown with his forehead resting on the table, with one hand rubbing at his sore knee. But in the end, he sat up enough to grab the hamburger, and dragged it towards himself.

But his jaw was cramping too much for him to open up and take that first big, juicy bite he really wanted, after a whole day of beef jerky and cold water and The Good, The Bad and the Ugly on loop. Dean tore off the first piece of his dinner, messy and resentful about it, and stuffed it into his mouth.

The first mouthful, though—whoever had made it had known what they were doing; it was definitely cooked for someone deep in rut, just meat and salt and pepper, no breadcrumbs, no egg or fillers. Maybe just a tiny bit of cayenne.

His tongue curled against it, and for an awful, stomach-twisting second Dean wasn’t sure he wanted it or not: the meat was fatty and salty, some kind of blend of fancy cuts he wouldn’t have been able to distinguish if his nose hadn’t been so sensitive at this moment. It had been cooked to rare, small chunks of it moist and rich. No cheese. It almost shoved against his senses, and he had to hold his breath for a second and stop chewing—he never knew if his rut was going to make him starving, or make him so hungry he was sick to his stomach and couldn’t keep things down.

After a second, though, his stomach growled for more, and he swallowed. (He checked in with himself: yes, that was his actual stomach. No, that wasn’t his freaking opinionated inner voice.) Dean tried to open his mouth again, stubborn with it, because _hell_ if he was eating a good burger with a knife and fork. He didn’t know if it was just that he was a contrary sonofabitch or that the first bite of food and salt had settled down the muscle cramps, but he could actually get his jaw most of the way open this time. He took his second bite, gratefully, and chewed.

“I never said I _wasn’t_ a grouch,” Cas answered, with a sniff, but when Dean looked up, there was a little dimple of a smile hiding in the corner of his mate’s lips. Cas reached across the table and completely fearlessly pinched off a small piece of Dean’s hamburger, watching Dean with those steady, calm blue eyes as he brought it to his mouth and lipped it off the tips of his fingers.

The knothead that’d taken over Dean’s brain right now grumbled in territorial, just a little, but they’d found out the first time that Dean’s alpha didn’t really mind feeding Cas even when it was in this weird state of seriously hormonally pissed-off.

“Oh.” Cas licked the curve of his full, pink lips, and nodded his approval. “It’s good.”

Dean mumbled an agreement, trying to keep his eyes from following the swirl of Cas’s tongue because it was making his dick throb painfully, and lowered the burger. “Do you want half?” he offered. Cas wasn’t really good at cooking meat to begin with—he didn’t like the smell of it the way Dean did, even though he liked to eat it—so he’d brought this home with him after work. From the taste of it, and the lingering, spicy scent of _family_ on the Tupperware, Cas must have passed by Bobby’s and Ellen’s after leaving the library and had Ellen make it special for Dean. _That_ was why there were no additives.

Yeah, his alpha liked that idea—his omega providing for him, the same way it’d liked it when Cas had cracked open the windows and let in fresh air, washing away some of the stink of Dean sulking around the house all day, nursing his sore joints. He felt himself leaning forward, his lips parting to scent, fingers clenching into the side of the plate even though his rational brain _knew_ that he wasn’t going to be able to smell anything about Cas over the thick, meaty scent of cooked burger. Cas just watched him, his head tipping to the side in that way it did when he knew something was going on in Dean’s weird alpha brain, and he was going to give him time to work it out.

Okay. So this rut was going to be a bad one. Probably because it was his first rut since he and Cas had moved in together, and Cas’s scent and his pheromones or whatever were playing ping-pong with Dean’s… should’ve seen that coming.

Dean was really glad this stupid rut garbage only happened to him a few times a year, though, because _fuck_.

But why today?

(Yeah, he knew he was being a whiny ass, and he always was, like this. The last time Cas had laughed at him about it, Dean had jumped him, growling. Yeah, yeah, he could yak it up. Sure, _Cas_ liked being in heat—most omegas that Dean knew did. And Cas’s, well, they were kind of special; Dean didn’t blame him for enjoying the fuck out of them, since Cas never _had_ a heat before Dean. Didn’t make any of this hormonal rage-fuck bullshit better, though.)

Cas must’ve come to the correct conclusion, though, because he nodded. “If you don’t mind sharing? Just a small piece,” he said, and smiled, sweetly and gratefully enough that whatever weird animal part of Dean wanted to snarl and crouch over its meal settled its aggressive ass down. Dean nodded and carefully cut the burger into four pieces and lifted one of the four onto the plate Cas had piled high with… Dean thought they were called edamame. “I would have gotten you fries as well, but…”

Dean shook his head. “No… it’s good you didn’t.” The carbs in the burger bun and the thin smear of ketchup were probably about all he could take when he was like this. He’d have been mad—probably really mad, not just this low-simmering pissed-off—if the bun hadn’t been there, but it wasn’t good for him, either. It was always tempting, because when he was running so hot, he wanted _sugar_ , but that just made the fevers even worse.

And the goddamned erections. Yeah, he'd tried to be decent and put on sweatpants before Cas had come home from the library today. A t-shirt, even. But by about ten minutes in, he’d had to shuck them down to his boxers again. The t-shirt was okay, and he kept that on, but having his hard-on being pushed this way and that by the crotch of the pants had been so freaking _uncomfortable_.

Then Cas had cheerfully patted his ass, said, “Don’t fuss yourself about it, Dean, I quite like you dressed like this,” and Dean had nearly tackled him to the floor.

Castiel Novak really had no fucking self-preservation instincts _whatsoever_.

Dean shook his head again when Cas raised his eyebrows and offered him some of the green beans on his plate in exchange for the piece of Dean’s dinner. (He didn’t want the damned things even when he _wasn’t_ in rut.)

“God, this is a really crappy Valentine’s day for you,” he muttered, watching as Cas finished off his own little piece of burger with a little ‘mm’ of appreciation, and started doing that weird thing where he popped the inner blobs of the long green beans out of the pod with little motions of his lips. Pop, pop, pop.

Dean lowered his eyes and took another bite of his burger, looking glumly at the fact that Cas was munching on soybean rabbit food because it was all they’d had in the freezer. It was supposed to be Dean’s turn to do the groceries and cook, and he’d gotten home late from the station yesterday. And then today had happened. Cas was still wearing his suit jacket indoors, in their _home_ , because it was fucking February and the only way Dean could feel like he wasn’t sweating his balls off was to have the windows thrown open. He sighed. “I’m really sorry, man.”

It wasn’t like they were planning to do matching alpha-omega outfits or pink balloons or flowers or any kind of chick-flick shit, but hell, it was their first Hallmark holiday since they’d moved in together. They were mates, now, _officially._ They’d had _dinner plans_ and all, goddammit.

Then Dean had woken up this morning kicking off the blankets and panting, joints throbbing uncomfortably, with his breath rasping in his throat and sweat already matting down his temples. Cas had sleepily reached over and tried to pull him close again, tuck Dean into the line of his neck to soothe him. And Dean’s alpha, the complete asshole that it was, had snarled, loud enough that the reverb had echoed through their bedroom, and shoved him away, before Dean himself was awake enough to keep that bullshit from happening.

(Cas swatted him on the head and got out of bed, leaving Dean twisting and aching on the sheets and not even sure whether he wanted to apologize, or pin Cas down and bite him until _he_ apologized. But he came back with a whole pitcher of iced water and two Tylenol. God, Dean really did not deserve him sometimes.)

Cas raised both eyebrows at him, and put the shell of the edamame neatly down on the other side of his plate. That was how he always ate the things: he separated the ones that he’d already gotten the pods out of from the fresh ones. (Maybe that was why Dean kind of hated them; he dumped them back into the same bowl and then had to go rooting around for the next one he could eat.)

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Cas said, as serious as he always was. “It’s just another day. And I want you to be comfortable. Is the department going to be alright with both you _and_ Benny out, though? Should I bring him some food as well?”

No. No, no Benny, _no._

Dean shuddered as his alpha, just barely starting to settle down inside him, forced a snarl to tear at the back of his throat, loud enough to send a shock of pain down the base of his tongue. He dumped down his burger and closed his eyes, breathing through it, slow and even. In and out. In and out. On the deep breath in, he got a bare whiff of beeswax—okay, that helped. Dean reached across the table and fumbled for Cas’s hand, yanking it towards himself hard enough that Cas almost ended up facedown on the table. He roughly shoved up Cas’s sleeve, and pressed his mouth to the roll of muscle at the base of Cas’s thumb. Dean sniffed his bare pulse. He inhaled, mouth open.

The green, wet smell of the edamame beans that Cas was eating with his fingers, yeah, he got that, but under it, he got something better—something softer and dustier. Feathers. Feathers and wax, paper and… there. There. Just that little sweet lick of musky honey. There.

The goddamned animal already thrashing inside Dean with want and fury and trying to launch himself across the table to just get _at_ Cas settled down to a low, unhappy grumble.

Cas just blinked at him, half-sprawled across their small breakfast table, looking unamused. But at least he knew better than to move. Or, hell, to take his hand back; Dean wasn’t entirely sure what he would have done if he’d felt Cas pulling _away_.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart. I might be a grouch, but you’re fucking _suicidal,_ man,” Dean complained, into the delicate skin of Cas’s wrist, once his throat had stopped vibrating. He didn’t try to let go of Cas’s hand. “C’mon, you know better than to mention another alpha when I’m like this.”

Cas shrugged. He turned his hand, and his thumb feathered back and forth over Dean’s lower lip. For a second, it felt like too much—like something that Dean wanted to growl at, like something that he wanted to _bite_ rather than kiss. But a moment later, the pad of Cas’s thumb gently swept at the fullest portion of it, tugging just enough to part Dean’s lips. “He’s your partner and your best friend. You won’t hurt me.”

Dean managed to force himself to let go of Cas’s hand, but only for long enough to grab up his burger and keep eating, big messy bites that left little flecks of meat on his plate. He was still surprised when he got to the end of his burger and the good, solid weight settled down in his stomach. “You _really_ don’t know that,” Dean muttered, finally, his mouth full.

“Yes, I really, really do,” Cas retorted, calmly, and prodded the bottle of unsweetened vitamin water across the table to follow the burger, along with two Tylenol.

Dean scowled at him, but he took the bottle and popped the pills dry. This vitamin rehydration shit was terrible, but Cas wasn’t _wrong_ that Dean was less cranky and feverish on it than when he took Gatorade or Powerade or something with sugars in it. He swigged most of it down in several cold gulps, the sting of the chill of it painful against his palate and the back of his tongue, but the combination of the icy drink and the meal settled the fever down just enough that he thought he could breathe again.

He thought about making an effort to sit still for long enough to let Cas finish eating—he could do that, right? On goddamned Valentine’s Day, he could do that much? But the slow rolling heat in his pelvis was getting harder and harder to ignore, especially now that he wasn’t hungry anymore and his alpha was definitely feeling like it was being challenged.

Goddammit, Dean was going to end up spending Valentine’s locked into his bedroom and away from his mate at this rate.

 _Especially_ when Cas took the vitamin water bottle back from Dean, and lifted it to his own lips. His throat moved in a quiet swell under the prickle of his afternoon five o’clock shadow as he drank down the last few drops, pink lips wrapping delicately over the bottle’s clear mouth. Dean could see his tongue moving in a slow flick as he lowered it. He didn’t look away from Dean’s eyes the whole damned time.

“What the _fuck_. You’re just asking to get tossed over the back of the sofa, you know that, right?” Dean muttered, his teeth clamped tightly together and his muscles cramping again with the effort that it was taking not to just launch himself over the table. And he couldn’t even have said with any certainty at all if he was talking about bending Cas over and fucking him, or throwing down with him for the challenge he could see in Cas’s gaze, because rut hormones were truly _fucking insane._

Cas raised an eyebrow at him and lowered the bottle, looked unimpressed. He sure as hell did not bare throat and submit the way Dean’s hormones were telling him that his mate should. And he didn’t look one bit intimidated.

Even though Cas was—at least theoretically; Dean had his own thoughts about it—an omega with a quiet, neutral scent, he was also tall and broad-shouldered and strong as hell, and he didn’t take Dean’s bullshit. (He didn’t take anyone’s bullshit, really.) Most of the time, Dean’s alpha just wanted to snuggle right up to him and purr and sniff against his neck rather than alpha voice him down to his knees, but… not always.

Dean gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into the tabletop so he didn’t do… something. “I… seriously, Cas. My control’s shot, and I’m gonna be pretty fucking unbearable. D’you, uh…”

He _knew_ he should be asking Cas if he wanted to stay in the guest room—or, hell, even with Jo, because even though Sam and Bobby and Ellen were family, Dean wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ stomach the idea of his mate spending this time with another alpha when he was like this. Hell, he’d seen himself through his own freakin’ ruts before, plenty of times before he and Cas got themselves mated. Right? He’d put on Mad Max this time rather than Indiana Jones (he didn’t have a _thing_ for Harrison Ford, okay? The guy was just a really badass beta, that was all) and guzzle plenty of ice water. Dean’s ruts didn’t last long, but he already knew it was gonna be a long night.

But he couldn’t say it. Dean tried, he really fucking tried, but he couldn’t force the words out through the tight clamp of his alpha saying _fuck no, my mate, mine,_ so loudly he was surprised the words weren’t carving themselves through the air like a scratch-and-sniff poster. He could _smell_ his own damned aggression. God, he _stank_.

Both of Cas’s eyebrows bunched lightly together in the middle of his forehead. “I know better than to run from you or turn my back,” he answered, calmly, “but if you’re done with dinner and you’d like to relocate to the bedroom, we can.”

“Sex is a really bad idea right now, Cas,” Dean warned. Then he goddamned had to reach down and readjust, because even just saying the _words_ , even dressed in just his boxers, he was too on-edge. Just because his body was panting and hot and wanted to run and fight and fuck didn’t mean it was a good idea. Dean had been here before, plenty of times: with his cock this sore and swollen, having sex sometimes took the edge off his aggression and the pain—but it didn’t even feel _good._

And the chances of him making it at all good for _Cas?_ Pretty much zero. Dean Winchester wasn’t proud of the fact that his rut sensitivity made him a two-pump chump a lot of the time.

Rut was the most awful fucking thing, _seriously_.

“Who said anything about sex?” Cas answered. “I have something else for you.” He smiled and stood, slowly enough that not even Dean’s angry, twisting hormones could take offense at it. Cas held out his hand. His fingers were cool and smooth and strong when Dean, carefully, put his hand into Cas’s and let Cas lever him back to his feet.

Dean needed. He wanted. He opened his mouth and breathed in and in and in.

His mate had already unbuttoned his cuffs underneath his suit jacket, but his tie was still done up almost to his throat. Well, almost. Dean’s fingers shot forward, tucking themselves into the knot of Cas’s tie, before he even had time to process that he was going to do it.

He was pretty sure most people with any sense would flinch even a _little_ when an alpha detective running hot in the middle of his rut went for their throat in a quick rush like that, but Cas didn’t even tense up. He tilted his chin up and back and peered at the ceiling as he let Dean undo his tie with shaking hands, unfasten the neat little buttons of his collar with fingers that were trembling to just _yank_ and rip the cloth open.

The skin showing didn’t make Cas’s scent any stronger, almost nothing did that. But the glimpse of the deep roll of his Adam’s apple, Dean’s mating mark on the right side of Cas’s neck, the little reddish crescent that had scarred up so pretty and hadn’t yet faded to the white streaks of an old mating…

Okay, that… helped. Dean ran a finger down the dimpled curve of the scar. Cas just watched him with just his eyes turned down—so fucking serene, so _calm_. Even with his chin up and the softest parts of his neck showing like this, there was nothing submissive about him, and goddamn, Dean wanted to nip him.

“Cas, sweetheart, I think…” Dean ducked his head and breathed in, that little spot right at the angle of Cas’s throat where his subtle, soft scent of libraries and eiderdown was strong. Not sweet, not really, but Cas _wasn’t_ all that sweet. It fit him. Dean’s rut quieted down a little. He raised his head and ran his thumb down the long bridge of Cas’s nose. He couldn’t help his smile when Cas went, briefly, cross-eyed to look at his finger. “You gonna read to me?”

(He’d never actually said it, but _bless_ Sam, the reckless, interfering stupidhead moose that he was, for calling up Cas and sending him into the war zone the last time Dean went into rut, a few months after he and Cas started dating.)

Cas nodded. “A new book.” His hand came up to cradle along Dean’s cheekbone, thumb stropping back and forth against the rough line of Dean’s beard stubble. “It has a line that made me think of you. ’Every time you get the world by its tail, she thought, you gotta remember there’s teeth on the other end,’” he quoted.

Dean chuckled, softly, shakily. “I dunno, buddy, kind of think that sounds more like _you_.”

“Rawr,” Cas told him, completely fucking deadpan, and the laugh that got out of Dean got them all the way upstairs and into the bedroom without any incident. Dean brushed his teeth and smacked his goddamned hormones on the head when they made growling interested noises in the direction of where he could hear Cas getting changed for bed outside.

Cas wasn’t a complete idiot, though, so he wasn’t naked under the sheets of their California king memory foam when Dean made his way underneath. Sure, Dean’s alpha _was_ an idiot and made an angry little noise about it, because his mate should be showing skin—should be presenting for him, legs spread, ready and eager. Cas should be on his belly, so that Dean could admire the dark wings tattooed down the scarred line of his back, crossing just over his tailbone, the feathery wing tips following their way down the curve of his butt and onto the backs of his thighs…

Dean shuddered.

“Are you alright?” Cas asked, half-lifted to turn off the bedside lamp.

“Yeah,” Dean grunted, and palmed his cock down into something like a more comfortable position. Sort of. If there was any such thing when he was so hard he literally hurt. “But, uh, maybe… maybe you should be at my back tonight.”

Dean’s alpha wound itself inside him at that, unhappy and vicious, wanting to chomp and mark, scent and mate. He whacked it a good one and flipped over, presenting his back to Cas, and felt his mate wiggle in behind him. One of Cas’s arms curved over his hip and came to rest on Dean’s bare abs, the muscles jumping to the cool touch of fingers. Cas didn’t comment on the fact that Dean was probably pretty unpleasant to slot up against like this when his rut-fever was running this high, sweaty and smelling sharp, like alcohol and leather in the sun. But Cas’s body, lean and strong against his back, felt cool even through his clothes. He felt solid and steady—pretty good, even if the position _did_ kind of piss off Dean’s hormones. This close, Dean could smell him, and that was… nice. So nice.

With the lights out, Dean tried to relax into his mate’s voice rumbling behind him. He loved it when Cas read to him— _fuck_ , that eidetic brain of his was the sexiest damned thing. It was always going to be amazing having Cas read books and sometimes a bit of poetry to him from _goddamned memory._

Dean could already tell that it was the kind of book that he would’ve really liked, normally, too. For all that Cas devoured books the same way most people ate french fries, this particular sort of sci-fi, the clever-banter Star Wars-style adventure, kind of a buddy-spaceship thing, wasn’t the kind of book that Cas normally _did_ read when it was his choice. (Any more than Cas regularly ate french fries, come to think.) So if Dean had to guess, his nerdy, amazing librarian must have read it _just_ so he could have it memorized for Dean.

Probably specifically for Valentine’s.

 _Goddammit_.

Which was why Dean felt like a complete freaking heel that he couldn’t even focus on the words when he was surrounded by the hoarse, delicious, raspy rumble of his mate’s voice in the dark, thinking greedily about how much he loved it when Cas’s voice cracked in the middle of a moan.

Cas barely moved when he was behind Dean like this, but his chin was hooked over Dean’s shoulder, his breath was right underneath Dean’s ear, and the fabric of his shirt was itching along Dean’s back until it was all Dean could do not to flip over and tear it off him. He’d press their chests together and grab one of Cas’s legs to hook it over his waist, bend down and bite at Cas’s ear until he fucking _wailed…_

Cas trailed off halfway through something about “ _‘…It is sometimes the custom among Terrans to provide a person with what is known as a ‘nickname…’_ ”

There was a long pause after that that made Dean realize that, if he’d been listening, he probably should have responded to something there. Cas was waiting for something. A reaction. A laugh, probably.

Shit.

Cas sighed, softly, into the back of Dean’s nape. His breath washed just a bit of his dry, powdery scent over Dean. He didn’t keep going.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Dean muttered into the pillow next to his face, right through instincts that told him that the only thing he should be sorry for was the fact that he wasn’t leaving bite marks all over his mate’s shoulders. “I, uh… I guess I’m…” shit, he’d managed this before, right? Normally Cas’s voice and the steady, neutral bookishness of his smell, nothing like the candied sweetness of other omegas, _did_ soothe Dean down even when he was completely out of control and out for blood. Cas’s scent was the only one that’d ever done it for him like that.

Dean had known it would be different, now that they’d moved in together and officially mated—the traditional way, with bites and not just rings. Their natural scents blended all over everything. Hell, Dean didn’t even pretend he didn’t rub his face in Cas’s shirts and slacks when it was his turn to do laundry, just to get a whiff of whiskey and leather into them before Cas went out for the day. Cas smelled like _him,_ now, a lot of the time, like Dean had marked him up with more than just the scar on his neck, because Dean’s natural scents were so much stronger than Cas’s.

And for all that Dean’s inner alpha liked that—loved all that—the same stupid goddamned voice in his head also did not understand why Dean wasn’t doing the right thing now and filling Cas up with his knot.

“It’s alright,” Cas murmured, and nuzzled him gently. He hadn’t shaved when he got home from the library, though, so the delicate prick of it was like running harsh velvet over where Dean’s nape met his back, and Dean shuddered all over. Hell, he practically felt his own temperature climb. Thank God Cas was behind him, not in front, or Dean was pretty sure he’d already have his mate’s boxers yanked down around his knees. “I don’t think you’re in the mood for reading.”

“Cas…” Dean warned.

“I really don’t mind,” he spoke, softly, and there was a low soft coarseness to his voice, like he was inhaling Dean’s scent, too, “if you want to have sex. If that’s what you want. Would that help you?”

Nuh-uh. No way. Yeah, they’d made it happen before during Dean’s rut, once—made it enjoyable, too, and Dean was proud of himself for that—but the alpha in him today was mean and hungry and selfish. It wouldn’t give a damn if Cas was yowling in pleasure under him, or if the noises he was making were from pain, and those were games that Dean was never going to play with his mate. Fuck, _no._ “No. It’s not going to be good for you,” Dean answered, stiffly.

“I don’t believe that,” Cas replied—and he pressed closer, molding himself against Dean’s back in a long goddamned line of cool, sleek temptation. His hand didn’t move, didn’t try to slide downwards into Dean’s boxers, but Cas’s mouth pressed full and warm against the crescent of skin right between Dean’s shoulder blades. “And even if that were the case: so? I would like to give you relief.”

Shit, _shit_. Dean squeezed his eyes shut. It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to have sex. That wasn’t it. Of course he did _._ But even if it sort of quieted the rut for a little bit, that shit did not end up feeling good for anyone any more than shoving a burn under cold water felt good. Dean wasn’t a kid popping his first knot and jacking himself sore anymore, and his brain knew all of this even if his alpha was running itself in stupid circles, licking its own angry dick. Dean had made most of his life not thinking with the bulge at the base of his cock, and rut or not, he wasn’t going to start now.

Cas sighed and rolled away. Dean felt the little bounce of him getting up and out of bed. There was a soft rustle behind him, like Cas was grabbing a book from the never-ending pile that lived on his half of their dresser, and a blanket to go stay in the guest room.

And for all that that was definitely a good thing, the _right_ thing for Cas, most of the rest of Dean wanted to howl at what, all of a sudden, felt like a rejection. His legs cramped, and he dug his toes into the mattress. He wanted to chase, wanted to hold Cas down and kick his legs apart and _thrust_ into the tight wet of Cas’s hole until Cas knew without a single fucking doubt who he—

Goddammit. Dean pulled his knees up towards his chest and focused on the pressure of his own skin. He breathed. In and out. Sweat dripped down his forehead, matting his hair, fuck; he was so disgusting, he—

Then the bed dipped behind him. He felt the press of a smooth, warm chest against his back, and there was definitely no t-shirt involved there anymore.

Dean froze, deafened by the roar of his own hormones, and in that second a naked calf pressed through and between both of his, and that was the solid thickness of Cas’s bare _thigh_ —

The snarl in Dean’s voice was so loud that it rumbled when he whirled over, his arms already ready to pin Cas down and grab him by the throat and fuck him into the mattress. The pure _alpha_ in it was wordless, a little shocking even to Dean, and to anyone with any fucking sense, it rumbled with all the hormones and none of the control. It was a sound that rattled the bedside lamp, nature-made to drop Dean’s omega to his knees.

So Dean didn’t actually expect a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t expect the twist of powerful muscles beside him, sleek and honed by the daily yoga that he loved to watch Cas do (okay, yes, he could do it now without ending up flattening Cas to the yoga mat).

He sure as _hell_ didn’t expect to find Cas braced on the mattress and already sitting up a little for leverage, because Dean was bigger and stronger than his mate—but Cas was, no doubt about it, smarter than he was.

Cas never did give two shits what nature _or_ Dean’s alpha voice was telling him to do.

Cas planted a hand on his chest and used Dean’s own momentum to shove him onto his back, arms flailing. Then swung a leg over and sat on him, both of his big hands framing Dean’s shoulders and pinning him against the mattress. With Cas’s legs spread wide like this, Dean could feel his mate’s fine little ass rubbing across the big muscles of his thighs, fuck yes, _yes_ , that was just—he had no fucking problem with Cas wanting to ride his cock—

“Get on your stomach,” Cas commanded.

Dean’s brain stalled.

What?

“I have an idea. Get on your stomach, please,” Cas crooned again, and lifted just enough off Dean that it was pretty clear he expected Dean to do exactly what he was saying.

It was a command. It was a challenge. His alpha _screamed_.

Dean wasn’t sure if what bolted through his body was excitement, aggression, electricity or fucking _lightning_ , searing hot and painful down his senses. He squeezed his eyes shut, and he wasn’t even really aware that he’d moved, but when he was back to himself and his breath was his own again, he could feel firm flesh under his fingers.

When he opened his eyes, his fingers were digging into the soft curve of waist just above the cut of Cas’s sharp, gorgeous hipbones, dragging his mate’s weight down, pulling him back and forth against Dean’s clothed cock. It hurt, yeah, but it hurt in that sort of good way, like pressing on a toothache. Dean was grinding hard up against the soft, bare spot behind Cas’s balls, slicking his boxers up in the thin wetness seeping out from Cas’s hole—marking Cas’s body up with Dean’s precome and his scent. Hell, he was surprised he hadn’t just rolled them both over and pinned him.

But he hadn’t.

Even in the middle of his damned rut, he hadn’t. Huh.

Cas smiled down at him. “You see? You trust yourself so little.” He moved his hips down in a slow grind on top of Dean, and this time, Dean gripped harder to make him stop, because he was already so damned close. That kind of quick, sharp punch of an orgasm wasn’t satisfying when he was in rut, and tended to just make him chafe.

Dean took over the rock of it—just barely moving where his cock was wedged, still trapped in his boxers, between the round cheeks of Cas’s ass no matter how much his body howled for more, more, more. The inside of his mouth was sour with wanting to just angle them both and bury himself inside his mate. He wasn’t gonna be able to keep this up for long, but maybe…

Huh. Cas was sitting on top of him, that fucking amazing long, lean body of his on full display, shoulders back and proud as he leaned into the motions of Dean’s hands and hips… and he was wet. And _definitely_ getting hard.

 _Huh_.

“Oh, this is very enticing, too,” Cas murmured, his eyes half-closed, “Mmm. But not exactly what I had in mind.” He smiled, faint and knowing, and his eyes were so, so fucking blue, even in the darkness. “Please get on your stomach, Dean. I won’t ask again.”

Through the whirr and buzz of a mix of triumph and surprise and agitation, because that sure as hell sounded like a threat and it was taking all that he had not to rear up and sink his teeth into the round of Cas’s bicep, Dean gritted out between his teeth, “Not exactly time for a backrub right now, buddy, what’re you—”

“Not a backrub, no.” Cas ran a ticklish, light hand down Dean’s side, the muscles jumping to his touch. “Though I think you might find that soothing, too. I know your penis is painful in rut, but we can do other things. You of all people know that. Can’t we?”

Dean froze. He stared up at him, so startled that not even his _alpha_ knew what to do about it.

Cas didn’t say he was joking.

Look, Dean adored his cranky omega librarian, but he was pretty damned aware that they did things… a little differently than other couples did. Sometimes a lot differently.

The scar on the crest of Dean’s left shoulder was one thing, and Dean sometimes still got a few stares about that in the showers at the station. It wasn’t common for someone to have a mark these days, since that shit was considered old-fashioned. If anything, the alpha _gave_ a mating bite, but a lot of people didn’t even do that anymore.

Well, Dean did not really give a fuck what other people considered old-fashioned: everyone in _his_ family wore mating marks, from Ellen and Bobby on down, and were proud. Dean sure as hell didn’t know why he’d want to give a bite but not get one, either, because when he saw the print of Cas’s teeth on the meaty part of his own shoulder, it made him smile every damned time. But he also couldn’t think of any other alpha outside of Sam who he knew had his omega’s mark on him—

Okay, thinking of Sam at all had been a bad idea. His instincts sure as hell knew Sam was an alpha and wanted to grind his big moose face into the dirt. He clenched his teeth and, consciously, had to try to loosen where his fingers had dug possessively into Cas’s hips, way, way too hard.

“It’s alright,” Cas said, gently, and reached a hand down to rest it over where Dean had to be digging bruises into his skin. His thumb rubbed back and forth over Dean’s white-tense knuckles. “Let me help you. You don’t have to present for me if you don’t want, beloved… but I think you might like it.”

He swallowed. Fuck, he didn’t know what Cas was doing, what he was _saying_. Yeah, Dean let Cas fuck him—get him all wet with artificial slick, stretch his hole open to let Cas inside—and he _liked_ doing it… hell, it’d been his idea the first time, hadn’t it? But he also knew what it took to get his alpha quiet enough to let that happen even on a _good_ day, and there was gonna be no shutting up the aggression in his hormones tonight. This was a dangerous game.

Just because Dean never _had_ hurt Cas, in rut or otherwise—hell, sometimes sticking his face into Cas’s neck or, if it was really bad, into Cas’s groin, were the only things that could get him to settle down when his rage was running really high—didn’t mean that he _couldn’t_. Dean didn’t need sex when he was in rut. A lot of the time he didn’t even want it no matter _what_ his hormones were howling for. It hurt to have anything squeezing his cock, and his own damned aggression made it a little too rough and not fun for anyone. He sure as hell had never thought, of… well…

Not… fucking his way through rut. _Getting_ fucked.

“Jesus, Cas. Are you serious?” Dean finally whispered.

Cas leaned down over him, moving his hips in a slow, careful circle that left Dean shuddering at the painful, achy slip and slide of his cock between Cas’s ass cheeks, where Cas was, pretty clearly, not having any trouble being into this idea. God, he was _dripping_ wet _,_ and the thick curve of his cock, fully hard now and bobbing over Dean’s belly, was making Dean’s mouth run bright and dry with want. “We’ve had multiple conversations about my lack of a sense of humor, I’m sure,” he answered, dryly, but the edges of his lips curved into a small, sly smile.

Dean licked his lips. He couldn’t say he was _against_ it. Just that he was sure it was a terrible idea. His head was swimming, though, and he’d tipped over the edge of tolerance, where he could keep down the aggression and the sex and the _fire_ , a few heartbeats ago. If he didn’t get his cock into something, if he didn’t come _somehow_ , he really was going to bite or punch. And there were some things that were just completely unacceptable to do to his mate no matter _how_ loudly his alpha was yelling for blood.

The knothead inside Dean was… actually kind of quiet right this second, though. Huh.

“If I say ‘Poughkeepsie,’ Cas,” he warned, “you back off. You back away. And you close the door and lock me in. No questions and no sassing me. I’m serious.”

“Of course,” Cas answered, calm like Dean hadn’t just given him a freaking _safeword_. He lifted up and off, and every inch of Dean’s skin whined to yank him back down.

Dean’s alpha was still so confused, though, when Dean took a deep breath and rolled over to his elbows and knees on the bed, arching his back into the soreness of it. But the position was almost a relief. His instincts had no reference for this, and no fucking idea what was happening—which was just about par for the course, because _Dean_ wasn’t entirely sure what was happening. Maybe Cas really did mean to give him some kind of a massage—and since Dean’s muscles _were_ achy all over, he couldn’t say that was a bad idea, so maybe—

Nope. Cas’s hands were on his hips, and gently easing Dean’s boxers—now pretty slippery anyway, with the way he’d been rubbing himself on Cas’s sleek, wet hole—down his thighs. There was no mistaking _that_.

But Dean definitely, definitely did not expect the deep lick that went all the way from the bottom of his crack to the top of his tailbone, with a naughty little _flick_ right in the middle that shot all the way to Dean’s toes.

Dean’s whole body tensed up. His alpha _whimpered_. Oh, shit, what—his shoulders bunched upwards and together in shocked confusion as Cas nuzzled his way back in between his cheeks, dropping tiny, warm, deliberate little licks around Dean’s—holy God, Cas was rimming him like he was a fucking _omega_.

“Cas, he gasped. “Christ! What the fuck are you—” Cas pressed with the blade of his tongue, a quick, sharp little jab that almost, almost managed to push the tip of it _in_. Almost, almost, Dean got that tiny little electric hint of stretch before it was gone. “ _Cas!_ ”

When Dean’s mate spoke again, it was in little puffs of air right on Dean’s goddamned tailbone. Fuck, he didn’t even back off: Dean could feel his full lips moving, the barely-there scratch of his stubble against Dean’s ass. “You do it to me, don’t you?” Cas answered, calmly. He put a hand on the small of Dean’s back and _pushed_. Dean felt his spine bow into it, pressing down, and opening him back and out. His inner alpha… shit, Dean wasn’t even sure what noise it was his alpha was making inside him, but it was flickering at the back of his throat in sharp little shocked tremors. “And I enjoy it very much. Now _relax._ ”

He bent his head back in, and Dean, well, all of a sudden he just didn’t have the brain left to argue that yeah, he licked Cas open all the time, but that was because Cas made slick and his hole actually _opened up_ for Dean’s tongue. Cas’s tight, responsive body was a freakin’ miracle (and no, Dean didn’t give a damn that that was just how omega bodies were supposed to work; it was how _Cas’s_ body worked, and that was good enough for him).

The thing about Dean’s body when he was in rut was that so many of the things he normally enjoyed just _felt_ like too much, in a way that wasn’t pleasant. His muscles were so tense that they twitched and cramped and hurt; he ran a fever so high that he could get dehydrated from it, and he couldn’t make the ache in his goddamned hard-on go away even if he jacked off until he was raw.

But this… the gentle, careful swirl of Cas’s tongue right where his balls joined the rest of his body, the easy pressure of it in slow nudges back and forth against Dean’s tight little pucker—not trying to get _in,_ the feeling of it more slippery and more of a glide than even a lubed-up finger… it was _insistent_ in just the right way. It wasn’t too much, the way Dean was sure a mouth or even a hand on his cock would’ve been—

Cas pressed his lips into the crevice he’d been lapping at, and _sucked._

Dean’s whole body quivered with the tension of it, and he yelped when there was just the slightest scrape of teeth in a gentle nibble against the inside of one of his ass cheeks—too much, yup, _too much_ , and Cas soothed it with another sloppy, chuckling kiss.

Dean buried his face in his arms to muffle the sounds he was making as Cas lapped at him, the line of his tongue broad and slow, so deliberate. And _messy._ It was all too much. It really was, but for once, it was in just the right way—his whole body shook a little and he felt his cock drip, thin and hot the way it always was when he was in rut, onto the sheets underneath him. Cas backed off just enough to make a quiet, thoughtful _hmm_ sound, but Dean didn’t even have the time to complain about him stopping before Cas puffed, delicately, on the now-wet crease, Dean’s crinkled little hole.

But the inside of his pelvis was aching, trigger-happy and frustrated, and Dean pushed his hips back for more. He felt the trickle of spit down the back of his balls—ticklish and cool as his own temperature ramped up, higher and higher _._

Cas made another interested little noise in the back of his throat and spread him wide open with both hands on his ass cheeks. He started to gently work at the rim of him, flicking at it this way and that like he was trying to pull it open with nothing but the force of his tongue… oh God. Dean _liked_ fingers back there, but he couldn’t normally come from them. At the same time, though, there was something about how the sensation was more diffuse than he was used to—

A broad stripe and a deep, relentless little _shove_ with the tip of Cas’s tongue, dipping just barely inside him, made him second-guess that. _Fuck_. Dean realized he was panting and sweating, his head swimming, his face mashed against a pillow to keep down the little fluttery noises echoing in his throat.

Holy shit, Dean knew he was sensitive when he was in rut, but what the _fuck_.

He could feel his pulse beating through his cock, and when he glanced hazily down, he could see it hanging ruddy red and angry-looking the way it always was when his hormones were high, seeping a thin continuous stream underneath him. It still hurt, but with the way Cas’s mouth and lips were lavishing at Dean’s crack right now, nothing at _all_ hurt. He teetered on the weird precipice of wanting to touch and not wanting to touch and—

“Cas,” Dean gasped. “Baby, I—"

Cas pushed hard with the tip of his tongue, fucking _licking_ him open, the tip of it wiggling _in,_ and Dean didn’t know if it was the pressure or pull or just the delicate little stretch of it, but…

The feeling started deep in the small of his back, or maybe somewhere just between his legs, and Dean didn’t even recognize it until it _happened,_ because it wasn’t—

He came, his mouth dropping open, silent and stunned as come spilled out of him in thin little bursts. Holy shit. His knot didn’t pop—oh fuck that was weird, that felt _really_ weird, like his body was too tight all of a sudden to even let his knot go—and Cas didn’t stop. No, the goddamned omega licking Dean open like it was his fucking job murmured “Yes, mm, _yes_ ,” and slid one long finger so deep into Dean’s fluttering hole that Dean jarred himself forward and facefirst into the pillow.

It felt… it felt… good. It felt _really_ good, just the right bit of fill spiking through the way Dean’s cock was still dribbling onto the sheets. Then it was two, slippery and right, and he was already loose enough it didn’t even ache. Then three—

Yeah, yeah. _Yes_. Cas wasn’t even aiming for Dean’s sweet spot—from the way Dean felt swollen and ripe and about ready to pop all over again even though he’d just come, Dean wasn’t sure that’d feel good—but his fingers were moving so nice and easy. The stretch and burn almost wiped out the awareness of how Dean’s cock had started pulsing again, the fucking stupid thing. Cas wasn’t using just spit, it couldn’t be… right?

But he could smell—even over the pong of his own come and the sweat he was dripping down his shoulders and neck—the deep salty sweetness of honey, almost as thick as when Cas was in _heat_. That wasn’t the seawater-and-iron smell of the fake slick they normally used—they always bought the supposedly unscented stuff now, because most makers tried to hide that with lavender or rose or apple or whatever. The artificial scents gave both of them a headache and covered up Cas’s mild, deep natural paper-and-candles in a way that Dean _hated_. They’d gotten used to the slightly chemical, metallic edge of it, even though it _did_ make Dean sick to his stomach when he was sensitive like this, but…

“Wha…” he mumbled, pushing himself off the pillow.

A hand stroked the small of his back, pressing up to rub the tight muscles on either side of his spine in a way that just blended _just right_ with the fingers that Cas had moving inside him, and Dean’s elbows gave out from under him, dropping him back to the bed with his ass up in the air. Oh, _God_ , that felt good. That _smelled_ so good, the dark honey overwhelming even Dean’s damned rut-stink. “Cas, whassit…” he slurred, then gave up.

“Not bottled slick,” Cas murmured, and massaged him harder—getting the tension out of him, inside and out. _Fuck._ Dean moaned. “Mine. I want you that much, Dean,” and _fuck_. The image that got Dean—Cas reaching back and getting his fingers all wet in himself, then pushing all that good, hot, sweet-smelling slip right into _Dean,_ getting him ready for—oh, fuck. Fuck, yes, that kinky, kinky bastard.

Dean was pretty sure, when his brain was working again, that he’d think _real_ long and hard about the fact that _he_ was the one who’d had to coax Cas into topping him the first time around, because Cas had thought it was weird. Fuck, that seemed a really, really long time ago now. Cas hadn’t been innocent by any stretch of anyone’s imagination—he was, hundred percent, the first one who’d run his tongue up _Dean’s_ neck and undressed him on the way up the stairs into Dean’s bed, dropping onto his hands and knees in front of him—but… damn.

“C’mon, _c’mon_ ,” Dean growled, because even now, he couldn’t make himself beg.

He didn’t bottom for Cas as often as the other way around—they both liked it a whole damned lot, yeah, but there was no getting around the fact that it took a lot more fuss to get through the whole deal than it did when Cas presented for him like his body was made for it. Dean loved the careful gliding feeling of Cas’s long, slender fingers in him, and the delighted expression on Cas’s face every time Dean reached back to open _himself_ up _,_ fingers all shiny with artificial slick, could’ve full-on launched a thousand ships. Cas was so damned precious when he was happy.

But sometimes it was frustrating just how _long_ it took for Dean to be ready and stretched-out enough to take Cas in without it hurting. Whereas he could—had—bent Cas over the kitchen table, gotten his pants down around his knees, and been in him with about thirty seconds of making sure that Cas was in the mood and okay with it. (He was. He was, as he often told Dean, very okay with it.)

“Are you—” Cas asked, because Cas never forgot that Dean’s body wasn’t quite made for this the way Cas’s was.

Dean rocked his hips back on Cas’s fingers in answer, taking them all the way down.

It was possible Dean wasn’t prepped enough for this, but the feel of Cas’s cock nudging in, slippery as his fingers had been, through the tight ring of muscle, the slow deliberate pressure of it, was such a delicious ache. Dean’s still-sore cock bobbed with it, jumping to the beat of his pulse. Cas’s hands settled on his hips, and Dean could feel and _smell_ the wet on one of them. His ass clenched around the thick, bulbous head, not even halfway inside him.

“Oh- _hh_ ,” Cas sighed, and Dean heard the shiver in his voice. It would have made him smile if he hadn’t been so deep down in himself he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to climb back out. His alpha whimpered. He wanted—he wanted to gnaw on Cas’s neck until his mark bled, he wanted to fuck Cas’s mouth until he knotted behind those pretty lips, and what he was getting was nothing his instincts or his hormones would want.

And it felt good. It felt _so_ good. There was that little hitch of pressure right where the head of Cas’s cock joined his shaft— _fuck_ yes, yes, there; Dean loved that he could always feel that—and he was in, a low, slow slide.

“So _warm_ ,” Cas marveled, shaky and delighted. “Dean.”

It might have just been a check-in—might have just been Cas saying his name purely for the pleasure of it. Cas didn’t need to be careful with him, but sometimes Cas was for his _own_ sake: he sure as hell got off on topping, and more than once he’d come before Dean was ready. It was weird how that had always made feel Dean _good_ , even though Cas was embarrassed about it, but it really did.

Dean had a feeling that wasn’t gonna be a problem right now. Oh hell. Oh, _yeah_.

The first thrust was a slow snap of hips, deep, all the way in. The feel of the cut of Cas’s hipbones hitting the full rounds of Dean’s ass was glorious as hell—even though he knew Cas wasn’t actually cold, with Dean’s fever running so high now he _felt_ cool where his body touched Dean’s, where his cock stretched Dean open. When he pulled back, it was only for a few inches before he pressed in again. Dean tried to lower himself down on the bed to give Cas more to shove against, but that dragged his cock, hard, on the tacky wet sheets underneath him, and he cried out at the chafe of it. _Ow,_ ow, no, that wasn’t—no. He struggled, pushed his hips back.

One of Cas’s hands snuck under him, digging gently into the soft meat just under Dean’s bellybutton and pulling—carefully raising Dean’s ass until his cock was dangling again, dripping. Maybe it was an accident that that pulled Cas deeper into him, or maybe it wasn’t, but the fill of it— _yeah._

Dean was always sensitive when he was getting fucked, but the slip and slide of it didn’t normally feel like this—like Cas’s cock was just too big to fit inside him, cramming against all the little good spots and ending up with the head of him sitting somewhere behind Dean’s sore dick. It didn’t hurt, though. It didn’t hurt at all, and considering that half of Dean’s joints ached, that was really—

Cas ground in a slow, careful circle. Then another, faster. The next thrust pulled him out a little, and Dean braced for the push—

It didn’t disappoint.

“Cas,” he gasped, and then louder. Louder. Cas was always quiet—he was always so fucking quiet—but he leaned over and he gave Dean _touch_ , he _fucked_ him, holding him up so Dean’s cock leaked every time Dean’s ass got filled up, but nothing hurt. Cas settled on his back and they tacked together. God, Dean’s skin felt like it was two sizes too small for the rest of him and he was going to sweat himself right out of it, but he turned his head just enough.

The angle was really awkward; Cas couldn’t move in him, Dean couldn’t move back against him. But he caught Cas’s lower lip with his tongue, his teeth. For just a second, it was enough. _Mine, my mate._ Then he put his head down and let Cas’s weight settle across his back.

Cas ground into him, and his heavy, lusty honey scent was so strong that even with Dean’s mouth full of pillow and detergent, being shoved down by his weight, it was like a spill of it all around him. He was close—he thought—how the fuck was he, already—but Dean didn’t want to be anywhere but here: oversensitive and split open on his mate’s cock.

Cas came a few seconds before he did, and holy shit—that was when Dean _knew_ just how sensitive he was. Because he always knew when Cas came, sure: Cas went still and quiet behind him, shivering, and sometimes he moaned. His cock swelled up just that tiny little bit, and he twitched and throbbed so sweetly inside Dean.

Dean didn’t normally _feel_ the come spilling inside him, though, the slippery jets hitting his inner walls one by one, making each thrust that came after sloppy and messy and. Oh. Fuck. Yeah.

The second time Dean came, his own come hit him in the chin, still thin as precome, his knot still tucked close, straining and frustrated because his body didn’t fucking know what to do with itself without his cock being touched. Cas had to hold him down for how violently his back twisted, and Dean snarled, then yowled, high and thin. Cas’s cock slipped out of him and hot come spilled out behind it, leaving Dean empty and still coming, so fucking _empty_ he wasn’t—he couldn’t—no, no, no—

He sure as hell didn’t expect Cas’s fingers to fill up the empty space left behind. The sloppy noise of the deep thrust in made his head spin, holy fuck, because—that was—wasn’t that— _yes_.

Dean’s whole body quivered all over, and his back arched. But Cas didn’t stop pushing his own come back into Dean’s soft, open ass with gentle rocking motions of three long, graceful fingers.

Then four.

Oh fuck. He’d never had so much in him. Cas didn’t curve his fingers, didn’t try and stroke, but with him that _full_ there was no way he could avoid Dean’s prostate, and—

It was just a little glancing nudge over the overwhelming, fantastic stretch. That was it. Fuck, that did it. Dean was writhing, completely fucking overstimulated with his head swimming in dizzy circles, by the time his knot finally popped. He knew it did, he could feel the pressure of it, but without his dick _in_ something, without any pressure around it, it just felt like… like…

Like _relief_. Holy fuck, yes, _yeah_.

Dean sobbed when he came the third time, completely fucking untouched, Cas’s come hot and slippery between his ass cheeks and those long graceful fingers sliding his mate’s spunk in and out, in and out of him.

‘Coming’ was an understatement. He was pretty sure he blacked out. No—he was pretty _damned_ sure, because when he came to, he was sprawled on his side near the edge of the mattress, both hands curled up to his chest, and he hadn’t started out that way. His ass was sore and empty, and his dick… didn’t hurt anymore.

There was a straw nudging at his lips, and the only reason he didn’t swat both it and the glass that it was attached to out of Cas’s hand was that, honestly? Dean was pretty sure that if he raised a hand he’d hit himself in his own damned face.

But Cas was sloe-eyed and smiling, sweaty and honey-dark, crouching by the side of the bed with the glass. Still naked, and Dean’s alpha purred, feeling, well… _sated._ Not bitchy and angry and horny, just kind of… there.

Huh.

Dean didn’t lift his head, but he sucked, eagerly. Ice water. _So_ fucking good, oh God. But he still stopped before he finished all of it. He raised a shaking hand and pushed the glass back towards Cas, the cubes in it clinking invitingly.

“You,” he insisted. (Yeah, that was right. Had to take care of Cas, too. Yeah.)

Cas smiled at him and drank the rest in two gulps, then leaned in to press his mouth—cool, so cool now—against Dean’s overwarm forehead, then, very lightly, against his lips. Just a quick little peck. “Is it alright if I get back into bed?” he asked, in a low, gravelly whisper.

Part of Dean felt a dark roll of shame that Cas would even ask—like he knew Dean’s alpha was a territorial asshole in rut even though normally he wanted nothing more than his mate in his bed with him. But of course Cas _did_ know that.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, immediately. His voice was hoarse. Then, because it had to be said. “Please.”

This time, when Cas climbed into bed, Dean turned towards him. Intentionally. He was still sweating, and his joints still hurt—more, now, actually—but when he glanced down, his cock wasn’t even hard. Holy crap.

Cas reached over and curved a hand over Dean’s cheek, running one finger down the little bridge between his nose and upper lip. “Thank you,” he said.

He sounded like he meant it.

Goddammit. Dean was _not_ going to tear up. What the fuck was even wrong with him. He cleared his throat, and wiggled a little back, clearing some space. “You in the wet spot?”

“A little,” Cas admitted, and shimmied closer—close enough to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. He smelled fucking _glorious_. Like sex, like satisfaction. Like a used bookshop lit up with nothing with beeswax candles. Dean wrapped an arm around his waist. They lay there in quiet comfort for what might have been an hour, but it might have been a few minutes. Dean didn’t know if he dozed off, or if he just… _was_. His alpha was so, so _quiet_. Hell, Dean thought it might be purring.

“So, I, uh…” he finally started, “Did you… did you know?”

“Hm-mm. I know a lot of things,” Cas answered, all serene.

Dean snorted. He had just enough energy to open his mouth and nip hard at the curve of Cas’s ear. Sassy little asshole. “Did you, uh… did you know that you could get me off like that? One after another?”

“Not for sure, but… I hoped. It happens to me when I’m in heat, you know that,” Cas told him, sleepily.

Well, yeah, Dean knew _that,_ but. “You’re an omega, you’re lucky that way.”

Cas laughed, softly, eyes closed—though it was anyone’s guess, Dean thought, whether he was laughing because Dean was saying it, or because he knew Cas had spent most of his life feeling like not all that much of an omega. “Why _shouldn’t_ you have them when you’re in rut?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious. “You seem so miserable otherwise, there has to be _some_ upside to it.”

Dean snorted. “Uh, because biology doesn’t work that way?”

Cas cracked his eyes open and raised both eyebrows, looking dubious. “Well, clearly it does,” he stated, frowning.

Okay, Dean… would have had a hard time arguing with that even if he _hadn’t_ gotten most of his brain cells fucked out of him.

“I don’t think either of us knows enough about anyone’s biology to be able to make that kind of blanket statement, and alpha rut is not exactly something I’ve researched extensively.” Cas considered, his finger tapping lightly on Dean’s thigh. He yawned, mouth wide and eyes squinching shut, and curled up against Dean’s side, his knee hooking over Dean’s thighs. “Though there was that one very embarrassed young man who I had to direct to the reproductive biology section of the library, because he couldn’t find what he was looking in the gender studies section…”

“Well… I sure as hell never came three times in a row before, sweetheart,” Dean mumbled, exhausted and content and sweating, but he didn’t think he was even that feverish anymore and the feel of come drying on his thighs and his cock wasn’t making him want to claw his skin off. “So, damn. Um. Thank you.”

Cas shrugged and nuzzled into his shoulder. He dropped a kiss on Dean’s mating mark, and Dean blew out a slow, shaky, contented breath. His alpha rolled and rumbled happily inside him.

“Well,” Cas said, thoughtfully, “You deserve multiple orgasms, and now you’ve had them.” He chuckled, softly. “I think today was a very nice Valentine’s Day, don’t you, Dean? We should do this every year.”

“You romantic sonofabitch,” Dean teased, but he curved over and wrapped his arms around his mate. “Read to me tomorrow morning?” he mumbled, into Cas’s seriously fucked-up hair. “From the beginning.”

He felt Cas’s smile into his shoulder. “It would be my pleasure, Dean,” he said, like a promise.

Okay, maybe being in rut wasn’t always so bad.

(Or at least, it wasn’t when Dean had the world’s best mate, anyway.)

~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> The book Cas tried to read Dean this time was “Agent of Change,” by Sharon Lee. What can I say, he thought his mate might want some fluffy, fun space opera rather than Hardcore Sci-Fi for Valentine’s Day!
> 
> This was supposed to be a fun little 5K Valentine's Day first-time-multiple-orgasms smutty thing. Aiyah. Ami, I hope you're satisfied! ;)


End file.
